


Santa Baby

by spaghettideviant



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Elf Connor, Happy Ending, M/M, Mall Santa Claus, Mall Santa Hank, What is this?, idk how to tag things like this ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 22:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaghettideviant/pseuds/spaghettideviant
Summary: Hank Anderson has worked as Santa Claus at the Twelve Oaks Mall in Detroit for ten years, despite how much he dislikes the holiday season. A new elf threatens to make him change his mind, getting him into the Christmas spirit.





	Santa Baby

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by some headcanons on twitter.  
> (also i have never written smut before in my life and i'm sorry if this sucks)
> 
> Merry Christmas, Sluts!

There aren’t a lot of jobs steadily available for old men, especially not retired alcoholics struggling with depression. Old men with no redeeming qualities, not a lot of talent, and absolutely zero tolerance for bullshit. The workforce is all slim-pickings, and for Hank, he can only keep one job, despite the fact that he’s been doing it for so long. He doesn’t have the energy to try and find anything else to do, and has been in the same spot for ten years. 

Sure, Hank used to do odd jobs here and there. Short, fucked up jobs that wouldn’t make him any more than a couple hundred bucks. He thought he had everything figured out for a while. Landed a cushy job in a bar, serving drinks to kids younger than him. It worked out for a short time, and he thought he would stay for a while. Met a girl when he was forty. Fucked her against the bartop, not even bothering to learn her name.

A year later, she dropped off his kid. Cole.

If he’s honest, Hank still doesn’t know her name. Even now, when he should track her down and tell her what happened, he can’t find any trace of her. Kind of a dick thing to do, drop off a three month old in a shifty bar deep in the heart of Michigan. Someone who works in a place like that wouldn’t really be the best parent, so Hank left, finding other small jobs to afford all the things he needed to take care of a kid.

When Cole was three, Hank had already gone completely grey. Raising a kid is stressful as shit, and he couldn’t keep any job long enough to sustain all of their needs as a small, two-person family. Restaurants, telemarketing, dog-walking. Nothing that held up. No one really wants to hire old men, and Hank could never blame them.

He ran out of ideas eventually, until Cole made an off-hand comment about how much his dad looked like Santa Claus.

Life’s funny. You would think Hank would get rid of anything that made him think about his dead son, but, he’s kept it all. The apartment, the dog, all of the old clothes and photo albums. It was painful to do, sure, but Hank usually drowned the pain out with a nice bottle of whiskey.

He even kept the job, and continues to stay there, even seven years after Cole passed.

The Twelve Oaks Mall has payed for Hank’s alcohol addiction for ten years, and this year is no exception.

Currently, he sits on a bench with a soft pretzel, watching as workers bring the workshop to life. Building the podiums and decorating this entire section of the mall. Throwing fake snow and presents all over. Hank always watches them set up, since he literally has nothing better to do, and sort of enjoys sneering at the children when they pass him, shouting things at their poor mothers about how Santa is on his way. Barf.

For someone who literally acts as Santa for an entire month, Hank sure hates Christmas.

It’s all commercial. Too many bratty children getting things that they don’t deserve. Rich white parents spoiling their offspring with shit that will end up neglected or in the trash. Toys they won’t play with, candy they won’t eat. 

It’s stupid. Santa isn’t real and Hank isn’t religious.

Honestly, if he could get out of this, he would. But, instead, he settles on letting toddlers clamber into his lap and throw tantrums or wish for materialistic things, then spends the rest of his year wasting his sweet, sweet Santa cash on booze. Life is real, funny, indeed.

Hank takes a bite of his soft pretzel, glancing over at his boss, the owner of the mall, Jeffrey Fowler. He only shows up when they set up, spewing some welcome bullshit to all the new hires. Right now, he’s introducing all the newbies to the woman who will train them, an elderly woman who’s been here longer than Hank. 

New elves. Bleh. Hank never ends up liking whoever he works with. They’re stupid, too, just like this fucking holiday. He gives the crowd a once-over. Four or five college kids, who look way too excited to start this job. It’s hours catering to snot-nosed cumshots. Why the hell would they be excited for this shit?  
Hank doesn’t look up as the wood on the bench creaks, giving way as another person settles beside him. He crinkles the wrapper of his soft pretzel, taking the last bit out and crumpling the paper into a ball. After chucking the paper wad into a nearby trash can, he shoves the rest of the pretzel into his mouth. He hears tapping against a phone screen, followed with the absent-minded humming of some old Christmas music. 

Hank frowns, turning to look at the culprit. “Will you shut the fuck up?” The workers begin to bring in the giant faux tree, ushering the trainees out of the way. Beside him, the humming continues. “Gavin, I swear, if you keep up that merry bullshit I will-” The humming becomes a bit airier, and Gavin presents Hank with his middle finger. Grumbling, Hank folds his arms, turning to watch as the older woman begins to explain the do’s and dont’s of working with children.

Gavin Reed is a piece of garbage, but Hank doesn’t care too much. He’s old and a drunk, why would he judge anyone else? Gavin’s here every year as well, but not even for the Christmas crap. He manages the Payless shoe store next to where they set up Santa’s Workshop. Hank supposes he’s an alright dude, for a dealer. Honestly, Hank would have beaten the shit out of Gavin for humming Jingle Bells so loudly if he wasn’t Hank’s hookup for discounted pot.

“So, how’s it looking this year, Gramps?” Gavin elbows Hank in the side, reaching up to scratch at the nametag positioned on his chest. “What do you think you’ll be giving them this time?”

Considering, Hank snorts, knowing exactly what kids are going to ask him for after trying to prove how well behaved they were all year, even though they weren’t. “V-Bucks.” Gavin laughs, grumbling some shit about Fortnite being cancerous as Hank continues to gaze at the new elves. He thinks he recognizes a few of them from previous years, but he can’t be sure. He’s fifty three now, his eyesight could be going. Being Santa already makes him wear his reading glasses in public, if that wasn’t bad enough.

The woman asks them to demonstrate what she just showed them, squatting low to get the attention of any kids that won’t look at the camera when prompted. 

Hank would be lying if he said he didn’t watch as they did this. He can’t help his horny old man brain, watching college kids squat down and thinking about if they did that a bit closer to where he sits. It’s sad, sure, but so is the rest of Hank’s God-forsaken shithole of a life. Some days he really wishes he had the guts to finally off himself. That way he wouldn’t lust after any semi-attractive person doing squats ten feet away from him.

Fingers snap in front of his face, and he finally realizes that Gavin was saying something. “What do you want?”

“You’re drooling, Grandpa.” Gavin folds his arms, sneering down at the string of lights hung around his neck. “It’s creepy.”

Clearing his throat, Hank tries to steer the subject away from his own pervy thoughts. “This whole fucking holiday is creepy.”

Gavin snorts. “Yeah, letting your five your old sit on a strange old man’s lap, promising that the same old man will then break into your home and leave  _ gifts _ for you?” He shakes his head. “No fucking thank you. I think about blowing my brains out just looking at you for too long,  _ Santa.” _

“You  _ wish _ you could sit on my lap.”

“Don’t make me throw up, Hank. You’re not my type.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “But you’re type  _ is _ men, right?” Gavin frowns. Hank is always trying to get him to admit his sexuality. Three years of knowing the guy has given Hank hint enough that he’s into dudes, but he won’t admit it. Some kind of street credit thing or something else that’s even dumber. 

Gavin reaches to flick the lights around his neck, letting them flicker back to life. “My break’s over.” He yawns, and Hank knows that it’s fake, his break isn’t over, he’s just avoiding the question. Standing, he gives the trainees a once-over. “Try and keep it in your pants, Old Man. No one likes wrinkly dick.”

Hank rolls his eyes, watching as he leaves before mumbling, “That’s what you think.” He lets his gaze fall back over the new people, free to observe without Gavin’s scrutiny. 

  
  
  
  


❄❄❄

  
  
  
  


The first day is always hectic, and this year is no exception. 

Children cling to their parents, tugging on their arms excitedly and pointing up at Hank with wide-eyed wonder, still too young to hate being alive just yet. They’ll get there eventually, Hank supposes, but not yet. Now, their parents fuel them with lies and make up stories about an old man breaking into their house to eat their food and give them presents. Weird, and Hank fucking hates it. All of it. This holiday, these children. But, still, he pretends to be Santa, laughing merrily and speaking softly to the hopeful brats, lying straight to their faces.

He pretends for Cole, not for the other kids.

Cole used to love telling people that his dad was Santa Claus. Hank can still picture his little eyes lighting up whenever he sat on Hank’s lap and gushed about how much he loved his daddy and-

Hank shoves that thought away, focusing instead on the little girl climbing the steps in front him. He smiles, greeting her cheerfully. She’s shy, and her mom has to urge her to talk. She doesn’t, at first, and Hank thanks the elf that helps her into his lap. Her name is Emma, and her mother says she wants an iphone. Figures. While she keeps looking up at her mother and refusing to speak, Hank lets his mind wander, his gaze falling over the others working alongside him, three elves, all trying to make this process go faster than it is.

The elf to his left, a chipper blonde girl, smiling at all of the kids and politely asking everyone to wait their turn.  _ Santa has enough magic for all of you, don’t worry!  _ She’s in charge of quieting the kids that cry, and helping Hank whenever one of them gets grabby and pulls on his hair or his beard. 

The other two elves divide the work between the two of them. They alternate running the register, printing the photos, and cashing parents out while the other greets the kids from the line, takes all of the photos, and makes sure that the children face forward. Hank knows first hand that parents get annoying with this stuff, and he’s lucky that the elves get the brunt of their nitpicking and helicoptering. No one in their right mind would complain to motherfucking Santa himself. It’s basically blasphemy.

One of the elves is a red-headed girl with a nose ring. Hank can see the tattoos under the sleeves of her costume, and he recognizes her. She usually works at Hot Topic. College, probably, making her get an extra job. It makes sense. Most elves come and go, just taking the seasonal job to make a bit of cash. She pounds her fist against the machine when it jams, forcing the picture out to hand to the previous kid’s parent and wish them a Merry Christmas, frowning the whole way through it. Hank likes her. Anger is a good way to sum up his own attitude as well.

He looks to the other elf, messing with the zoom on the camera before repositioning it on the tripod. Unlike the others, this one is a man, and Hank watches him carefully. The outfits they use for all of the elves are basically the same. Green and red crushed velvet tops with short, poofy sleeves, even shorter poofy skirts and red and white striped tights. Bells on all of the hats, shoes and belts. They all wear pointed ears, marking them as elves. The elves are typically women, college and high-school girls, eager to work with children.

So, all of the costumes the company provides are fitted for younger girls, not men.

_ This _ elf wears the same crushed velvet top as the other two, and it gaps whenever he bends over, revealing a little bit of his chest everytime. That shirt wasn’t meant for anyone flat chested, but he wears it anyway, not even bothering to try and hide his lack of cleavage. Really, the only thing he changed about the uniform is the skirt, swapping it for some shorts. They’re the same velvet material, and they’re basically the same length as the skirt. He wears the red and white tights, and Hank watches this guy curiously.

Hank would rather die than wear something that requires  _ tights. _ How the fuck do they do it? He keeps watching the elf as he bends over again, fixing one of the cords connected to the softboxes, facing away from Hank, who gets a full view of this kid’s velvet-covered ass.

It’s… oddly nice. The shorts work. Hank can see the top of the tights, realizing that they’re actually thigh high socks. Interesting.

Emma doesn’t smile when it’s time for the picture, and all three of the elves move to try and cheer her up or wave jingly toys to get her attention. Her mom moves to take a phone call, and doesn’t pay her daughter any attention until they’ve got their picture and are leaving the area.

Everything moves quickly, and Hank is pretty grateful for that. He gets a thirty minute break around noon, and he spends it in one of the back rooms of the mall, pulling a flask out of his coat and drinking as much as he can. When he returns, he’s only a little tipsy, still coherent enough to listen to kids and smile for pictures. If anything, the alcohol makes his nose a bit rosier, which works in his favor. He is Santa, after all.

He ends up being right. A lot of kids ask Hank to send them V-Bucks. It’s sad, but Hank tells them that as long as they’re good, they’ll get the virtual money they crave. He’s lying, and based on all of the looks the parents give him, he probably shouldn’t encourage any of the kids to ask for Fortnite things, but he can’t stop them.

Later in the afternoon, the blonde elf shifts uncomfortably, and Hank tears his gaze away from the tantrum being thrown in front of him to ask her what’s wrong. She nods her head towards the long line, and Hank notices the woman stomping through the line, dragging her daughter by her small wrist.  _ Jesus Christ, _ Hank thinks, reaching up to rub his temple.  _ Can they not wait in line? _

It takes him a second to recognize the girl from earlier. Her mom looks pissed. The flow of things comes to a halt, and even the screaming kid shuts his gob, letting his father rock him back and forth. The elves look at her, bewildered, as she stomps up the steps, making a beeline for the register. Hank glances around for security, only to find the one guard leaning outside of the Payless, speaking in hushed tones to Gavin Reed.

The woman huffs, holding out the folder in her hand. “Which one of you took this?” 

The boy and the goth exchange a glance, the goth adjusting the camera slung around her neck. Hank should really try to learn their names. Slowly, the boy nods. “I did, I think.” He smiles down at the little girl. “Emma, right?” She nods, and he leans to place his hands on his knees, keeping up the happy elf facade. “You know, Santa still has to get your wish up to the North Pole! He’s been meeting with other little boys and girls, and hasn’t had time yet, but he’s heading back there tonight!”

Little Emma smiles, glancing over at Hank. Hank waves, tilting his head so his hat jingles. She giggles, but her mother waves the photo in the boy’s face. “Why does she look like this?”

The elf blinks, scrunching his mouth to the side. Hank snorts. What a goofy kid. “I’m not sure what you mean, Ma’am.” 

He looks down at her photo, leaning so Nose-Ring can see it too. She shrugs, letting the heinous woman begin to screech. “This is absolutely  _ ridiculous. _ I paid thirty dollars for this, and you can’t even get her to smile? It’s supposed to be for our Christmas Card!”

Nose-Ring frowns. “Ma’am, we can’t make her smile if she doesn’t want to.”

“That’s your  _ job,  _ you moron.”

Despite the sudden yelling, the boy looks down at Emma. “Not feeling very jolly, huh?” She shakes her head. “Well, let’s see if we can fix that.”

Hank tries to drown out the sound of her mother, straining to hear Emma’s small voice. “I don’t like when Mama gets angry.”

“Neither do I,” The boy concedes, shaking his head. “Do you want to retake the picture? So she feels better?”Emma hesitates, then shakes her head, standing on her toes to whisper into the boy’s artificial ear. “Hmm,” The boy taps his chin, and Hank knows that he should probably step in, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t get paid enough. The boy whispers something into Emma’s ear, and she nods, letting him lift her into his arms. He crosses over to Hank, nodding over to Nose-Ring before speaking to the blonde elf, still watching with wide-eyes. “Chloe, can you take over for North? She can retake this picture for us.”

Chloe, (See, Hank can learn names) nods, ushering the other kids out of the way and moving to step in, trying to calm down Emma’s mom. Nose-Ring, er,  _ North, _ moves to adjust the tripod, her frown now a scowl. Slowly, the boy lowers Emma into Hank’s lap, and Hank chuckles heartily. “What have we got here? Emma?” Emma nods, and Hank shakes his head playfully. “You don’t want another phone, do you? Mrs. Claus won’t like if I make too many.” 

She giggles, and the boy leans to whisper in Hank’s ear. His breath is warm, and Hank is filled with that same gross old man feeling he got when he was watching the elves with Gavin. “Her mom wants her to smile, but she doesn’t want to inconvenience you. I told her I would pose with her. Is that alright?” Hank shrugs, knowing that some kids have asked for elves to be in their pictures in the previous years.

What he doesn’t expect, is for the boy to crawl into his lap.

He balances on Hank’s left thigh, folding his legs and throwing his arm over the back of Hank’s chair. Emma sits on Hank’s right thigh, looking up at the elf nervously. He crosses his eyes, sticking his tongue out, and she giggles again, smiling wide as the boy nods for North to take the picture. Hank tries his best to fall back into his natural Santa pose, but has trouble doing so, with a twink just… laying on him like this. 

The lights flash, and North gives them a thumbs-up, moving quickly to print the damn thing and get this lady to leave them alone. She’s still yelling at Chloe, who didn’t have anything to do with this at all. The boy slides out of Hank’s lap, holding his hand out to Emma to help her down. She lurches forward when her feet hit the ground, wrapping her arms around his legs. Laughing, he drops to his knees to hug her properly. She mumbles into his shoulder. “Thank you,” 

She trails off, and the boy smiles. “You’re very welcome, Emma. It was wonderful to meet you.” He looks up at Hank with wide brown eyes, and Hank impulsively tries to count the moles and freckles covering his face. “I’ll make sure Santa takes care of your presents so you have the best Christmas  _ ever, _ okay?”

“How will you do that?”

“Magic, Emma. Magic.” The boy winks. 

At Hank.

_ Holy shit. _

Emma laughs, and the boy boops her nose with his index finger. She smiles. “I like magic.”

“Me too,” The boy smiles back, his dimples cavernous and devastating.  _ Stop staring, _ Hank screams at himself.  _ Don’t be like this. _

Hank clears his throat, and Emma straightens, pulling the boy up behind her. He tousles her hair, spinning her to face her mother, who has answered another phone call, the new photo already in her hands. Emma waves, then skips down the steps. “Bye, Santa! Bye Connor!”

_ Connor. Huh. _

The elves share some quiet communication, and Chloe stays by the photo printing station. Connor takes her place beside Hank, waving for the next parent to bring their child up. Hank exhales slowly, not even hearing what this new kid’s name is. He’s so focused on his own surge of loneliness. How pathetic it is to get this worked up because  _ one dude _ sat in his lap. The day continues like that, kids he doesn’t remember, smiling at a camera more times than he can count.

Though, the day seems different than usual, somehow, with Connor next to him. 

He’s lively, more so than Chole and  _ especially _ more than North. Hank almost believes that this guy genuinely enjoys working with kids and helping them take pictures with Santa. It’s weird. He’s weird. The whole day, he drapes himself over the arm of the chair, leaning a little too close to Hank’s ear. It makes Hank feel… not great.

It’s been a while since Hank has looked at a guy this way.

These past years, it’s been hard for Hank to force himself out of his depression long enough to hit on someone, let alone want to fuck them. Especially around holidays, he gets hit with a wave of enthusiasm and just drowns himself in whiskey. But this kid…  _ fuck _ if he doesn’t get Hank  _ going. _ Every freckle and mole scattered across his face, every little sigh that escapes his lips after each child jumps to give him a hug, the way one tuft of his brown hair bounces against his forehead. Everything about him is so… effortlessly beautiful. So seemingly careless. But, Hank notices the way Connor presents himself. He’s old, but not old enough that he wouldn’t notice how unsubtle Connor is being.

Any chance he gets, he’ll falls into Hank’s lap, rubs Hank’s arm, runs his hand through Hank’s beard. To the parents and the kids, it’s just a playful little elf filled with Christmas spirit and getting too into character. To Hank, it’s the most action he’s gotten since what’s-her-face dropped Cole into his life.

Eventually, the mall starts to clear as the sun sets, and they get to close. Hank stays in the chair, waving at kids as they leave while the elves start to shut everything down. He watches as the elves work, turning off the lights and dismantling some of the bigger props. Chloe and North leave for the night, saying their goodbyes to Connor as he begins to count the money in the register. 

Hank could leave too.

Honestly, he probably should. 

His phone goes off, and for a brief moment, he contemplates leaving, pulling his phone out to see what’s making it vibrate. A text from Gavin, cancelling drinks.  _ Fucker. _ Hank looks up from his phone towards the Payless, raising an eyebrow as Gavin slowly pulls down the security gate. Frowning, Hank cups his hands to yell at him now that the mall is empty, but stops himself as he sees the guard from earlier. They leave together.  _ Huh, _ Hank thinks, putting his phone back in his pocket.  _ He is into dudes, after all. _

It’s a shitty thought, that Gavin fucking Reed is going to get laid, while Hank sits in his stupid chair wearing the stupid hat and the stupid glasses and the  _ stupid _ red suit and-

Hank’s eyes fall on Connor, now counting pennies. He hums dreamily along to the Christmassy music, louder without the noise of the usual patrons. 

Suddenly, Hank feels very hot. Sweaty.

Not often does Hank feel like a gross old man, but he definitely does now. Who is he to watch this little twink with such a yearning stare? How dare he, an old  _ fuck, _ actually consider what it would be like to have that elf’s hands wrapped around him? How can Hank even imagine the sounds that would come out of that elf’s little mouth. In his head, they sound… delicious.

Hank crosses his legs, leaning back in his chair to observe Connor from the few feet separating them. He’s not  _ that _ young, Hank supposes. Definitely not underaged. He has a devastating jawline, one that suggests his age. Twenty-two, maybe? Hank isn’t sure. Honestly, as long as this kid’s not jailbait, Hank’s good with that. Connor leans down to move the money into a lockbox, bending forward to put the box under the podium and lock each individual lock, making sure the money stays secure. From this angle, Hank can see the hem of his socks again, and the tiniest sliver of pale white skin.

Hank wants, no,  _ needs _ to see the rest of that skin.

It’s just a dream, though. Some fantasy that is probably never going to happen. Hank’s just overthinking things. 

The music shifts from some upbeat Hawaiian crap to some old-school Christmas jams.

Connor stands back up as he hears the change, a grin forming on his lips. Hank meets his gaze, and Connor winks for the second time today, moving behind the podium again as a shiver runs up Hank’s spine. Connor steps forward, tilting his head. He watches Hank curiously, waiting as his mouth slowly falls open, and, to Hank’s horror, he sings alongside the lyrics echoing through the mall.

_ Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me, _

Connor bats his eyelashes, and Hank wonders what fucked up dream he crawled out of.

_ Been an awful good girl, Santa Baby, _

Shoulders shrugging, Connor tilts forward again, reaching down to adjust the bells on the tips of his curved shoes.

_ So, hurry down the chimney tonight. _

Hank isn’t sure what’s happening, but the thoughts he had a few seconds earlier seem closer to reality than they were then. Like this weird fantasy of his is actually… real? Hank wonders if he actually went home and passed out drunk on his kitchen floor again. Surely he’ll wake up soon enough.

_ Santa baby, a fifty-four convertible, too, light blue, _

Connor shuts his eyes, leaning his head back as he hears the music.

_ I’ll wait up for you dear, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight. _

He takes a few steps forward, the bells on his outfit jingling as he reaches up to pull off the green hat nestled in his brown locks. It drops to the floor, and Hank gulps, watching as Connor runs his hand through his hair, ruffling the soft curls.

_ Think of all the fun I’ve missed, _

Slowly, Connor makes his way to Hank’s chair, blinking rapidly, his whole body swaying with the music. His eyebrows arch, silently asking Hank if this is okay. Just as slowly, Hank nods.

_ Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed, _

Connor takes another step towards the chair, extending his arm to run his index finger under Hank’s chin. Hank clenches his jaw, letting Connor ruffle his beard with a small grin on his face. His hands are soft.  _ It’s not a dream. _

_ Next year I could be just as good, if you’ll check off my Christmas list, _

Straightening, Connor exhales, his breath oddly cool against Hank’s face. He turns, continuing to dance as he moves to finish unplugging the photo printing station.

_ Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that’s not, _

Connor tilts his head again, brown eyes meeting Hank’s for a split-second.

_ A lot, _

He reaches to run a finger against the pointed end of his fake ear.

_ Been an angel all year, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight, _

All notions of feeling gross and perverted leave Hank’s mind as he still processes what’s happening right now. He was worried about ogling Connor like he was some object, but… has Connor been doing the same to Hank? Has he been watching Hank just as closely, with just as much fire and passion? Hank can’t remember. All he knows for sure is that Connor is singing to him. Very,  _ very _ sensually. 

_ Santa honey, one little thing I really need, _

Finishing with the lights, Connor pads back to Hank’s chair, his shoulders shimmying and making him jingle again as he steps over his discarded hat.

_ The deed to a platinum mine, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight. _

Connor tips forward, running his hands against the fabric of Hank’s suit, exploring his biceps over soft crushed velvet.

_ Santa cutie, and fill my stockings with a duplex, and checks. _

He reaches out to boop Hank’s nose, and Hank laughs heartily, shaking his head as he finally relaxes. What a quirky kid.

_ Sign your X on the line, _

Pulling back again, Connor runs his eyes down Hank’s face, tracing the lines of his wrinkles and smiling wide enough to make his dimples peek through.

_ Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight, _

His gaze trails to Hank’s legs, and Hank uncrosses them, trying to make his lap seem inviting. Smirking, Connor takes the hint, swinging his legs over Hank’s to straddle him in the chair. Hank reaches out to tug on one of the bells on his collar.

_ Come and trim my Christmas Tree, _

Connor slants to the side, exposing his neck enough for Hank to reach up and run his thumb over the skin. He gasps a bit, and Hank bites back a groan. It’s unbelievably soft.

_ With some decorations bought at Tiffany’s, _

Hank presses against a mole on Connor’s collar bone, earning another little gasp.

_ I really do believe in you, _

Connor moves forward again to plant a soft peck on Hank’s cheek, and Hank’s entire body shivers. His lips are soft, too.

_ Let’s see if you believe in me, _

Nodding, Hank moves his hands down Connor’s back, snagging against the velvet of his costume and moving to rest on the swell of his ass. 

_ Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, _

Connor leans his head back, and Hank watches the gentle bob of his throat as he swallows a moan, tracing all of the moles and freckles. He drinks in the sight of Connor, watching his entire body greedily. 

_ A ring, I don’t mean on the phone, _

His hand squeezes softly, while the other roams south to pull at Connor’s sock, running his thumb over the fabric and feeling how soft the skin is underneath his shorts.

_ Santa baby, so hurry down the- _

Hank pinches the skin there, and Connor yelps, the song dying in his throat as he looks to watch Hank closely. “Why did you do that?”

Smirking, Hank pinches again, truly enjoying the sound it elicits from Connor and the way Connor’s hips buck forward in surprise. “Why do you think?”

A breathy laugh comes from deep in Connor’s lungs, and he shrugs his shoulders, tipping his head like a curious puppy. “Have I been naughty?”

Hank’s dick twitches, and he bites his lip, reaching up to shove his glasses up further on  his nose. “What?”

The laugh comes again, and Connor drums his fingers against Hank’s stomach, revelling at the sight of it. “Am I on the naughty list?” He leans forward, taking Hank’s hat and placing it on his own head. Hank chuckles a little when it falls down over his forehead, too big for him. Connor pouts, and, regrettably, it’s cute. “Have I been a  _ bad boy?” _

He clicks his teeth together, and Hank glances around the mall, his eyes darting between the closed stores to the small group of people near the food court, still lingering after closing up shop. His hands move back to Connor’s neck, tilting his head so Hank can press his lips to Connor’s jugular. Connor’s hands push against Hank’s chest, pulling himself away. Hank is confused for a second, then follows Connor’s line of sight.

Security cameras stationed above the Payless, pointed directly at Santa’s Workshop.

Though it’s not his fault, Hank can’t help but blame Gavin Reed.

One of these days, Hank’s just gonna kill him.

Connor leans forward to speak in Hank’s ear, rustling his beard again. “Not here.” He falls out of Hank’s lap with grace, leaning over to pick up his own hat and bag from beside the podium to carry them with him as he descends the green steps. Stepping onto the linoleum, he doesn’t look back as he walks, disappearing into a hallway next to the Payless. He just leaves.

And Hank, now sporting one of the most painful erections he’s had in  _ years, _ has to stand and follow him, wondering where the  _ fuck _ he went.

This hallway leads into the secret passages that connect each one of the stores. If Hank’s honest, he has no idea where any of these passages go, nor has he ever been back here, but he follows anyway, trying to expel the horror movie vibes he gets from the grimey tunnel. “In here,” He follows Connor’s voice into a small room, void of anything at all. It looks like an old storage room, though the only thing in here is the dim overhead light and Connor’s bag, now flung onto the floor with both festive hats.

Connor leans on the far wall, smiling then leaning over to pat the cement floor, gesturing for Hank to sit. Hesitantly, Hank slides the door shut. “I’m Connor, by the way,”

Nodding, Hank moves to the wall, leaning against it briefly before sliding to the floor. His back screams at him, but he doesn’t care, his aching need for whatever Connor has planned overriding anything his body tells him not to do. “Hank,”

“Hank,” Connor echoes, whistling as he drops down into Hank’s lap. Hank extends his legs all the way out, letting Connor straddle him again so they can pick up where they left off. He reaches up to run his hand through Connor’s curls, smiling at the softness of his hair. He lets it run through his fingers, testing how hard he can tug on it. Not so hard, he quickly learns, as Connor’s head lolls to the side, a soft gasp escaping his lips. “Oh,” He mutters, his eyelashes fluttering. 

Grinning, Hank pulls again, forward this time, pulling Connor’s face to his own to kiss him properly.

Like before, Hank loses it when he notices how soft Connor’s lips are. Connor leans against him, running his hands down Hank’s chest and parting his lips to let Hank inside. Hank swipes his tongue on the roof of Connor’s mouth, kissing him softly for one moment before tugging on his hair again. Connor purrs, and Hank groans, kissing him harder, mashing their noses together. He chuckles, his free hand moving to Connor’s thigh, running down the length of the striped sock, feeling the smoothness of it with his calloused palm.

Connor pulls away, breathless, and Hank considers pulling his hair again before seeing him lean over towards his bag. Hank releases him, letting Connor pull the strap of the bag to get it over to him. He rummages around for a second, searching for something that Hank can’t see in this horrible light before he finds it, laughing through sharp breaths. 

He turns to Hank, grinning. “Let me ride you,”

Hank swallows, considers, then nods. “Fuck it, why not?”

Still laughing, Connor uncaps what Hank assumes is lube, and Hank leans back to remove his glasses and set them on the floor beside him. He has to help Connor wiggle out of his tiny shorts, wrangling them off of his long legs and tossing them to the other side of the room. His boxers follow, and Hank takes a second to catch his own breath as Connor settles on his knees again. The light above them flickers, and Hank glances up for a second before looking down to watch as Connor fumbles for the small bottle, smiling at the sight of him.

Connor’s hands tremble as he reaches behind his legs, gasping as he pushes a finger inside of himself. Hank watches, resisting the urge to lick his lips as he takes in what’s happening, his brain screaming at him to never forget this sight. He wonders briefly how the fuck he got here, a lithe twink fingering himself in front of Hank, letting Hank watch. Crazier things have happened, he supposes, but he decides not to dwell on it, reaching forward to take the bottle from Connor and squeeze some of the stuff onto his own palm.

He palms Connor’s cock, laughing again as Connor twitches, the one lock of his hair bouncing against his forehead. He screws his eyes shut, and Hank gives him a few firm pumps, able to cover the entirety of it with one hand. Connor’s not small, Hank supposes, Hank’s hands are just big. Connor moans again as he adds another finger, and Hank releases his dick, shifting to undo the front of his pants. The velvet jacket makes it a bit difficult, and he reaches up to remove it completely, but Connor stops him.

Hank raises an eyebrow, and Connor sighs, still trembling as he continues to stimulate himself. “Leave it on,” Connor breathes, leaning forward to steady himself against Hank’s chest. 

“Why?” Hank frowns, craning his neck to look over Connor’s shoulder, biting down whatever protest he had when he sees Connor’s fingers thrust in and out of himself with ease.

Connor shrugs as best he can, trying to seem nonchalant but failing miserably, red splotches creeping up over his collarbone as he continues to pant. “I like,” He gestures with his free hand between the two of them. “This,”

“You like what? The Santa thing?” Connor nods. “That’s… kind of strange.”

“Do you not like Christmas?”

“Not really.”

Hank frowns when Connor pulls away from him, losing the view of Connor’s ass. Connor tilts his head. “So? Let me show you how great this holiday can be.” He adds another finger, and his eyes roll back. Hank’s underwear feels uncomfortably tight. “Tell me how naughty I’ve been.”

“Wh-” Hank watches as Connor reaches out to the other thing he retrieved from his bag. Squinting, Hank can make out the outline of a condom wrapper. He complies. “You’ve been bad this year, Connor.”

Connor quips an eyebrow, biting his lip to cover what should have been a loud moan. Hank can’t wait to hear those noises in their entirety. “How bad?”

Sighing, and knowing that this is the most action he’s had in  _ years,  _ Hank swallows his pride, switching to his Santa voice. “Very naughty.” He runs his hand down Connor’s sock, pinching the front of his thigh, listening to Connor squeal. “Elves are supposed to work. You’ve been, uh, slacking off?” 

He loses a bit of his gusto, and Connor sighs, removing his hand and leaning back on his heels. His hands are slippery now, so Hank helps him out, taking the condom from him and reaching down to free his own cock from his boxers. Connor drools at the sight of it, brown eyes wide as Hank slides the condom onto himself. He looks up, meeting Connor’s gaze and smirking at the blush spreading across his features. “You’ve been so bad, Connor,” Connor bites his lip again, slippery hands finding the fuzzy lapels of Hank’s jacket. “Naughty elves deserve to be punished.” Connor snorts, and Hank laughs, too, guiding Connor’s hips forward.

Slowly, Connor lowers himself onto Hank’s cock, his moans growing louder with each inch he takes. Hank savors how warm Connor is, his head falling back to lean against the cement wall. It’s been years since he’s had anything other than his own hand, and it feels amazing. He’s missed sex, truly. Having and losing a kid makes you forget how nice little things like this are. Hank reaches to press his thumb against the mole on Connor’s collar bone again, nodding when Connor looks down at him, giving him the okay.

Connor gasps with the first rise and fall of his hips, tightening a bit as he gets used to Hank’s size. Hank waits for him to adjust, patiently running his hands through Connor’s hair, still amazed by how soft it is despite the sweat covering Connor’s brow. Eventually, Connor gains his bearings, exhaling slowly and allowing himself to bounce. Hank shuts his eyes. 

Even the last few times he did manage to find someone to fuck, they just wanted Hank to rail them senseless, rip them apart and numb whatever pain they had. Connor, however, seems focused on making sure Hank feels good, running his hands down Hank’s chest and over his arms, picking up the speed of his motions, truly riding Hank like Hank was meant to be ridden. It’s… weird. Which is how Hank would describe the rest of his day, how he would describe Connor. Weird. But, in a good way. In between moans, Connor whispers little bouts of praise about how good Hank feels or how hot he is. Hank has never imagined himself as hot, especially not now that he’s old and out of shape. But, Connor insists, taking as much of Hank as he can and moaning his name loudly.

It’s not weird, Hank decides. It’s nice. 

Hank has never had sex with someone who treated him nice. Especially not someone he just met a mere eight hours before they started drooling for Hank to fuck them. Connor is nice.

And, Hank realizes with the pitch change in his voice, he’s close. So, he opens his eyes, moving one hand from Connor’s hip to his dick, pumping it with each thrust of Connor’s hips. He watches, grinning like a mad man, as Connor’s moans climb to higher octaves. Hank’s eyes soften, not knowing how someone this beautiful could want Hank after just a few hours of knowing him.

Connor finishes into Hank’s palm, his body shuddering with aftershocks of orgasm. His movements pause, and Hank strokes him slowly, letting him climb down from that high patiently. Connor opens his eyes, smiling around the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he starts to move again, determined to make Hank finish, too. It doesn’t take much longer, since Hank can see how dick-dazed and fucked out Connor is, and when he does, Connor leans against him, pressing his lips into the crook of Hank’s neck. 

Hank leans his head on the cool cement, smiling at the ceiling and reaching up to tangle his fingers in Connor’s dark curls.

  
  
  
  


❄❄❄

  
  
  
  


“Stop lying to yourself, Gavin. You’re gay!” Snow falls against Hank’s face as he and Gavin walk along the sidewalk, watching as cars pass them on the busy street. Gavin grumbles something else as they approach the Starbucks, making Hank roll his eyes as he holds the door for someone to walk out of the crowded shop, the sweet smell of coffee tingling his nostrils. “I know you cancelled on me to fuck that guy.”

“What guy?”

“The security guard?” Hank raises an eyebrow, letting the door shut behind them. “The goth one?”

“Oh,” Gavin shrugs, rubbing his palms together and blowing hot air against them. His face is tinged pink, and Hank can’t tell if it’s because he’s cold, or if Hank is spot on. “Whatever, that’s not your business.” 

Hank rolls his eyes, stepping forward into the long line of customers. He rubs his own hands together, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He has a couple of errands to run before he has to go to work today, and, to his chagrin, is too fucking tired. Literally. Coffee is a necessity. Without it, he’ll die. The line moves slowly, and Gavin continues to grumble some ‘no homo’ nonsense before they finally reach the counter. Hank looks up at the list of beverages briefly, though he knows he’s going to order his coffee black. He opens his mouth, but doesn’t get the chance to order as a small voice chimes, “Hank?”

Looking up, Hank meets wide brown eyes, jerking his head back as he sees Connor. Weird. They drove home separately last night, didn’t even exchange numbers. They aren’t even at work, and Hank goes to say something before his dumb self realizes that Connor is standing on the other side of the counter, a green apron tied around his neck. His ears are normal now, the fake ones long gone. Hank tilts his head. “You work here, too?”

Connor nods. “Yeah. Gotta pay off those student loans somehow, right?” He laughs degradingly, shaking his head. “What can I get for you?”

He’s smiling, but Hank can see the dark circles under his eyes. He’s tired, too, and Hank can’t help but feel a little bad for him. Quietly, Hank orders coffee for him and Gavin, despite Gavin’s protests, watching as Connor writes their orders onto their cups and handing them to a blonde man in a matching apron. Christmas lights glitter against Connor’s collarbone, and Hank smiles. “Are you working tonight?” He asks, watching Connor’s brow furrow. He corrects himself. “At the Workshop, I mean.”

“Oh,” Connor shakes his head, leaning against the register. “No. I have class.”

Hank nods, then notices the people in line behind him start to get antsy. He goes to say something else but Gavin  pushes him towards the other side of the counter to the pick-up area. Hank frowns, but continues to watch Connor as he keeps taking orders, a tired smile on his face. He yawns, and Hank sighs, cutting through the line again even as the blonde calls his name. “What time do you get out of class?”

Connor sputters, looking between Hank and the woman he cut in line. “Uh, five, I think,” 

“Let me take you to dinner after. Maybe… maybe you can show me how great this holiday can be?”

Connor blinks, his mouth open ever so slightly. Hank isn’t even sure what came over him, but, seeing Connor again so soon after their… romp, Hank feels the need to see him more. To hear him moan and give praise but also just to talk to. He’s nice. Maybe Hank can swallow his pride and allow himself to try things that might make him happy. He can go on a real date. One that he hasn’t gone on since before he was a bartender. Since before he met his son.

Maybe Hank deserves to be praised. Deserves better than getting drunk by himself.

Slowly, Connor nods, calling out to the blonde and taking Hank’s coffee from him. He quickly scribbles something on the cup, and reaches out to press it into Hank’s open palm. Smiling wider now, his dimples prominent, Connor apologizes to the woman behind Hank and continues to take her order. 

Hank makes his way back over to Gavin, and smiles to himself, looking down at the cup. He ignores Gavin’s questioning, instead looking at his own name written in Connor’s loopy handwriting, now accompanied by Connor’s phone number.


End file.
